


Accidental Oblivion

by nxghtwxng



Series: Navigating Life [3]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Idiots in Love, Jon is in college, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Clark Kent/Lois Lane, Minor Dick Grayson/Koriand'r, Minor Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Oblivious Clark Kent, jon's obsessive love for chinese food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:26:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25525126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nxghtwxng/pseuds/nxghtwxng
Summary: “Hey, baby brother,” Dick greets Damian. Then, to Jon he adds, “Hey, baby brother’s boyfriend.”Clark blinks. Baby brother’s what?“How're you doing, Clark?” Dick continues, clasping the older man on the shoulder, but Clark can only blink because baby brother’s what?Or: Clark has somehow remained oblivious to the fact that Jon and Damian have been dating for months.Sequel toStay the Nightbut can be read alone!
Relationships: Clark Kent & Jonathan Kent, Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Series: Navigating Life [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845865
Comments: 41
Kudos: 686





	Accidental Oblivion

Jon has had a busy week.

Actually, _busy_ may be a bit of an understatement. Jon’s week has been nothing short of _chaotic._

Because Jon had expected a _busy_ week. It was midterms season at Metropolis University, and while he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to the three, two-hour exams he had that week, he had been prepared. He’d made a color-coded study schedule and everything. 

Kon had even agreed to relieve Jon of his Superboy duties for the week, and without having to worry about hero work, Jon had fully intended to spend every spare moment of that week studying. 

So, yes, Jon had expected a busy week. He had not, however, expected the week to entail _two separate alien invasions._

The Justice League had attempted to handle the invasion on their own, but even with the help of the Titans, they were spread thin. They were battling two separate alien armies, both from different planets, both interested in the Earth’s planetary resources, and neither interested in sharing those resources- with each other, or with Earth’s current occupants. Both armies easily outnumbered the League, and it didn’t help that while one army was stationed in New York, the other was stationed in Los Angeles, effectively dividing the League on opposite ends of the country. 

When the battle exceeded twenty-four hours, the League called in the Titans. When it exceeded thirty-six, they began calling in all available hands: Teams like the Outlaws, who were known by, but not affiliated with the Justice League. Freelance heroes, like Batwoman and Supergirl. 

And Jon, who, despite his determination to stay out of his cape until his midterms were over and done with, is back in full Superboy uniform and dropping into the middle of a widespread battle on the streets of New York by Tuesday afternoon.

Jon hovers at the edge of the battlefield, taking in the action around him. He instinctively searches for Damian, and spots him fighting back to back with his siblings, his Katana swinging mercilessly. It looks like the Bats and the Flashes are handling ground defenses. The rest of the action is in the sky- Supers, Amazons, and a handful of Titans destroying enemy warships. Everyone else must be in Los Angeles, handling the other invasion force.

“Hey, Superboy Two! Nice of you to join us!”

Despite the situation, Jon grins at the familiar voice. He shoots upwards and flies towards Kon, who’s prying the exterior defense from one of the alien warships.

“I had an Econ midterm this morning!” Jon protests.

“And I’m supposed to be at work right now,” Kon retorts. “I had to use one of my sick days for this!” 

Kon throws the dismantled weapon at the warship, and it crashes through the front windshield. The ship stutters, losing altitude before righting itself. Jon looks for a weak spot and notices a sputtering engine exposed on the ship’s underside. He rushes towards it, ripping it from the spacecraft completely. The ship crash lands, and he and Kon fly off to destroy another warcraft.

“So how’d your midterm go?” Kon asks casually as he punches through the windshield of a warship. He leans through the broken window to punch out the pilot, then puts a fist through the control panel.

“Pretty good,” Jon answers as he weaves through the sky, dodging a sudden onslaught of enemy fire. “Although, I was hoping the professor would postpone since-” He gestures lamely to their surroundings.

“Alien invasion?” Kon offers.

“Alien invasion,” Jon agrees.

* * *

As luck would have it, the invasion lasts almost the entirety of the week, and Jon barely has time to sleep, let alone study.

He stays in New York until the invasion is over, returning to Metropolis just long enough to complete his remaining midterms. Batman- or rather, Bruce Wayne- has property in relative proximity of the invasion site, and the League converts it into a temporary safehouse. It isn’t much, but it’s a place to sleep and eat between battles, and there’s a makeshift medical wing (that Damian refuses to visit until Jon threatens to throw him over his shoulder and carry him to the medical wing himself because, Damian, it’s not _just a_ _scratch_ if it _won’t stop bleeding_.)

It isn’t until Saturday afternoon- nearly a full week after the invasion forces first arrived- that the battle is finally over. 

And Jon is utterly exhausted.

For the past week, he hasn't slept for more than a couple hours at a time or eaten anything other than the protein bars and granola provided by the League. Aside from the handful of hours he spent at Met U, Jon has worn his Superboy uniform the entirety of the week and he can barely remember the last time he had the time to shower.

Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel triumphant as he watches Simon Baz and John Stewart prepare to escort the invading army, which is now encased in a classic Green Lantern construct, back to their home planet. The Los Angeles army has also been defeated, with Hal Jordan and Kyle Rayner already leading them home. For the first time that week, Jon feels at ease.

Then he remembers the Communications Theory midterm he’d taken on Thursday after two hours of sleep and zero hours of studying, and any feelings of contentment are replaced by irritation, stress, and a sudden desire to ask his professor about extra credit opportunities.

“What are you doing up here?”

Jon would have jumped had he not been so used to Damian sneaking up on him. Instead, he looks over his shoulder and smiles tiredly at his boyfriend. 

Damian has been in New York even longer than Jon, arriving at the invasion’s twenty-four hour mark with the rest of the Titans. He looks worn and battle-weary. His face is filthy, forehead sweaty and grimy from hours of fighting. His Robin uniform is covered in dirt and dust from debris, and his cape is tattered and ripped at the end, reminding Jon that he needs a new cape himself- an alien ray gun had blasted a sizable hole through his, right under the S-shield.

“We won,” Jon says in lieu of answering.

“Of course we did,” Damian says haughtily, though Jon thinks there may be the slightest undertone of relief in his voice. 

Damian walks to meet Jon at the edge of the rooftop, and Jon slips an arm around his waist. Damian immediately leans his head against Jon’s shoulder, and Jon realizes that Damian must be just as exhausted as he is- Damian is usually adamant that Robin and Superboy avoid any signs that they could be a couple. He and his Bat Paranoia™ think that if Robin and Superboy are revealed as a couple, someone somewhere will somehow realize that they’re really Damian Wayne and Jonathan Kent.

Jon goes along with it, though he thinks Damian is being a little ridiculous. Not only had Robin and Superboy shared a _multitude_ of alleyway make-out sessions before Damian and Jon were officially a couple- effectively breaking Damian’s rule before it was created- but he really doubts anyone will draw connections between two _superheroes_ and an obscure Gotham celebrity and his nobody boyfriend. 

Besides, Nightwing and Starfire are a known couple, as are Dick Grayson and Kory Anders, and no one has ever connected the two- and Kory is far more conspicuous than Jon. Really, how many women are over six feet tall with flaming red hair?

And while Dick and Kory have been featured in several Gotham Gossip Magazines, Damian and Jon have yet to make headlines. Tabloids in Gotham City are notoriously ruthless, especially when it comes to the Wayne Family, Gotham’s personal Kardashians. Both boys are more than content to stay out of the spotlight for now.

They’ve only been dating for a couple months (Jon is adamant that the three months he and Damian spent as unofficial fuck buddies don’t count). Their friends and families know that they’re together. Vicki Vale doesn’t need to know too.

Jon tilts his head to rest on top of Damian’s. They stay at the edge of the highrise, leaning against one another in a comfortable silence, and watching as the Green Lanterns and their prisoners ascend into the sky.

“Good riddance,” Damian mutters against Jon’s shoulder. Jon snorts.

“So what now?” he asks. He plants a kiss in Damian’s hair before pulling away to stretch his arms above his head. His back cracks with a satisfying pop.

“The League is organizing disaster cleanup back at the safehouse,” Damian answers.

Jon groans. “No,” he complains, drawing out the syllable.

Disaster cleanup is, in Jon’s humble opinion, the worst part about the League’s bigger battles. It’s nothing but hours of manual labor when he’s already feeling battle-weary and run-down. Hours of clearing away rubble and broken glass, righting cars and buses that have been upturned, and using his superstrength to stabilize partially collapsed buildings while construction crews attempt to repair the damage.

There are usually reporters, too, hassling Leaguers and Titans for exclusives. Jon only ever gives a statement if his mom is one of the reporters on scene.

“Quit whining,” Damian chides.

“No,” Jon whines.

* * *

The sun is setting by the time the city is relatively restored. There are still dozens of buildings in need of repairs- some even in need of complete rebuilding- but rubble and debris has been removed from the streets, electricians have fixed busted traffic lights, and any buildings that had threatened to collapse are now stabilized. 

Jon flies back to the League’s temporary safehouse, which will soon be a temporary shelter for civilians who were displaced by the invasion. Along with his new shelter, Bruce Wayne has also promised to fund the reconstruction of any small businesses that were destroyed in the attack.

When he arrives at the safehouse, he finds Damian out front, back pressed against the outer wall.

“Hey,” Jon greets, touching down in front of Damian. “You done?”

Damian nods and pushes himself up from the wall. “I just finished.”

“Do we have to report back?” Jon asks warily. Mission reports are usually given to Batman, and Jon is exhausted and hungry and the last thing he wants right now is to be on the receiving end of a Bat Glare. Well, on the receiving end of Batman’s Bat Glare. Damian’s can be kind of cute.

Jon thanks Rao as Damian shakes his head. “No, the League is too busy with reconstruction and managing the press to worry about mission reports right now. As long as your sector is cleared, we can leave.”

“Oh thank Rao,” Jon voices, then adds, “Do you have to go back to Gotham?”

Damian shakes his head. “I don’t believe so, no.”

“Alright, then we’re going to my place,” Jon decides. “We’re going to my place, and we’re going to shower and order-in food, and then I’m going to sleep for _a week_ , at the very least.”

“Undoubtedly,” Damian says, the barest hint of a smile dancing across his lips. “Chinese?” he asks, and Jon grins.

“ _Please._ ” He’s not ashamed to say he pretty much moaned at the mention of Chinese food. It’s not his fault that he hasn’t had a decent meal all week- blame midterms and alien invaders.

“We can order from the restaurant you like,” Damian suggests. “The one on Sycamore Street with the stupid name.”

Jon’s mouth waters at the idea of the Lo Mein from Moon Wok, a family-owned restaurant about a block over from his apartment. But- “They don’t deliver.”

Damian purses his lips, considering. “It’s not far from your apartment. If you phone in the order, I can easily walk over and retrieve it.”

Jon would kiss Damian right there and then if he didn’t think it would earn him another lecture on professionalism in the field and preserving secret identities.

Instead, he settles for saying, “You’re amazing.” 

The corners of Damian’s mouth upturn. “I know.”

* * *

Jon allows his eyes to close, head tilting back as he moans, completely uninhibited, then presses his lips closed and swallows. He moans again, overwhelmed, alive and alight and nearly drowning in pleasure.

 _Bliss,_ he thinks. _This is pure bliss._

“Is that really necessary?” Damian says, settling next to Jon on the couch.

“ _Yes_ ,” Jon replies around a mouthful of Lo Mein. Damian rolls his eyes and opens their order of dumplings, plopping one in Jon’s take-out container before pulling the rest of the plate onto his lap.

Damian has just returned back from Moon Wok, and Jon had wasted no time extracting the bowl of Lo Mein from their take-out bag and then shoveling an unholy amount of noodles into his mouth. Maybe it was rude to start eating without Damian, but the older boy had gotten a super-speed kiss on the cheek and a rushed, “You’re the best,” for his troubles.

“You’re ridiculous,” Damian says, poking at his dumplings.

Jon just grins and asks, “Netflix?”

At Damian’s nod, Jon starts to stand to retrieve his laptop- Jon had never invested in an actual TV for his apartment- but halts when Damian places a hand against his shoulder, pushing him back against the couch.

“I’ll get it,” Damian offers.

“You sure?” Jon asks, although Damian is already pushing his dumplings aside, standing up. 

Damian shrugs. “You’ve had a rough week. You should get to relax.”

“You’ve had the same week I have,” Jon protests.

“I didn’t have midterms to worry about,” Damian counters.

Jon looks at the boy in front of him. The conscientious, kind-hearted boy, dressed in joggers and Jon’s Met U sweatshirt, hair still damp from the shower they’d taken before Damian had left for Moon Wok. How on Earth and Krypton had Jon once thought this boy was nothing more than a pretentious brat? 

Because, yes, Damian definitely _can_ be a pretentious brat when he wants to be, and sometimes Jon suspects his Spoiled Rich Kid Act isn’t a _complete_ act, but he’s also so much more than the front he puts up.

He’s Damian, plain and simple. A kind soul cloaked in a bold bravado. A passionate, resilient, kind-hearted soul, who Jon might be a little bit in love with.

Oh.

Yeah. He’s a little in love with this boy.

“Laptop?” Damian prompts.

“My room. In my backpack,” Jon answers. 

Jon watches as Damian disappears into the bedroom, eyes lingering on the doorway once Damian is out of sight. The more he thinks about it, the more certain he is that he loves Damian Wayne. His face slowly breaks into a grin.

Damian returns not two minutes later, Jon’s laptop and laptop charger in hand, and raises a brow at the stupid grin that has stretched across Jon’s face in his absence. 

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Jon says. 

_I love you_ , he thinks.

* * *

Jon can feel himself falling asleep on the couch, his long week finally catching up to him. His eyes droop closed, and he idly listens to the movie that’s playing on the laptop screen. 

His post-battle adrenaline has worn off, replaced by fatigue and lethargy. Add to that a full stomach of the best Chinese food in Metropolis and an armful of a boyfriend who’s just as tired as Jon, and Jon really didn’t stand a chance at making it through a whole movie.

Jon is half-asleep, but nonetheless notices the sudden loss of warmth when Damian moves from where he had been curled against Jon, his head on Jon’s chest. Jon protests quietly at the movement, though his protests turn to satisfied hums as a gentle hand cards through his hair. 

“ _Habibi_ ,” Damian says, and Jon hums again, a lazy smile stretching across his face. Damian rarely uses pet-names, and outside of cursing at his brothers, rarely speaks in Arabic. Jon savors the rare sound of the endearment.

“Let’s go to bed,” Damian says softly.

“Mhm,” Jon agrees, though he makes no effort to move, eyes remaining closed. 

“Jonathan,” Damian urges. The hand disappears from Jon’s hair, and he can feel the sofa shift as Damian stands. 

“‘M comfy,” Jon murmurs. “Come back.”

“You’ll sleep better in an actual bed,” Damian insists. “Come on.”

Jon, with enough prodding, eventually rises from the couch, and allows Damian to drag him towards the bedroom, where he immediately tumbles into his unmade bed. He feels the mattress dip as Damian lays next to him, and Jon slides towards him. He wraps his arms around Damian’s waist and dips his head to press against Damian's shoulder. 

Damian leans into his touch and murmurs, “Good night, Jon.”

“G'night, Dami,” Jon returns. He hesitates for a moment, then adds a quiet, “I love you.”

Damian immediately stiffens, and suddenly Jon is much more awake. His thoughts race faster than he can keep up with: Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Maybe it’s too early. Maybe he should have waited. Maybe he's panicking a little right now.

But then Damian is relaxing back into Jon’s touch, and Jon feels him thread their fingers together. “I love you too,” he says.

It's barely above a whisper, but Jon hears it all the same. He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, then presses a lingering kiss to the underside of Damian's jaw. Damian runs his thumb over the back of Jon's hand, soothing and steady.

Jon grins like an idiot until he falls asleep.

* * *

Clark has had a busy week.

He had spent most of his week in New York with the rest of the Justice League, Titans, and a handful of other heroes, everyone working in tandem to prevent one of the week's two alien invasions. It took five full days, but the invaders are finally on their way home, reconstruction projects in both New York and Los Angeles are underway, and most Leaguers are home resting.

Clark, however, had never made it home. He had made it to Metropolis, but before he could reach the downtown apartment he and Lois shared, he’d been intercepted by Lex Luthor and his newest Kryptonite powered robot. 

Usually, Superman could handle Lex Luthor, but not only was Clark already tired from his week in New York, but Luthor had somehow managed to get his hands on a startling amount of Kryptonite. As such, it hadn’t been hard for Luthor to get in a lucky strike, leaving Clark with a sizable shard of Kryptonite lodged in his thigh. 

Clark is groaning in pain and struggling to maintain altitude as he retreats from where Luthor had cornered him on the outskirts of the city. He takes his time- Luthor isn’t pursuing him, leaving the Kryptonite to do its job out of his sight. Plausible deniability and all that.

The Kryptonite burns feverishly against his leg, and his muscles ache as he pushes himself to fly. The Kryptonite is lodged too deeply in his thigh for him to extract on his own, and he’s losing altitude too quickly to make it back to Lois- their apartment is in the heart of the city. Meanwhile, he’s hovering on the edges of downtown, somewhere near Metropolis University.

Metropolis University. Jon.

He quickly scans his surroundings- Jon’s apartment is only a couple blocks away.

Clark hesitates. It's late. He had been one of the last Leaguers to leave New York, arriving in Metropolis well past midnight. He knows that Jon has had a rough week, and is probably deep in sleep right now. Clark is reluctant to bother his son and interrupt what is sure to be a well deserved and much needed sleep.

Then Clark’s vision begins to blur around the edges, the dull ache in his muscles evolving into more of a sharp pain. There’s no way he’ll be able to make it back to Lois before passing out from pain. With a silent apology to Jon, he starts towards his son's apartment.

He grits his teeth as he flies, willing himself to push past the pain. He audibly sighs when Jon’s apartment building comes into view, and he zeroes in on his son’s fire escape.

He doesn’t so much land on the fire escape as he does crash. The pain in his leg is harsh, the Kryptonite searing against his skin. He pushes himself up against the railing of the fire escape, sitting so his injured leg is extended outwards. Breathing heavily, he lifts a hand to wrap his knuckles against the glass of the window.

No one comes to the window, and Clark realizes there’s a very good chance that Jon isn’t here- it isn’t uncommon for the Titans to convene at Titans Tower after the big battles. Clark curses under his breath and, hoping to Rao that Jon isn’t in San Francisco, strains to use his superhearing, listening intently for any signs that Jon is home.

The task is made difficult due to the Kryptonite burning against his leg, working vehemently to drain his power. He can’t quite zero in on a heartbeat, but he can hear voices.

Oh Rao, there are definitely two voices in there. Clark hopes that Jon doesn’t have a Met U friend over- it may be difficult to explain to a civilian why there’s an injured Superman collapsed on his fire escape. 

“Jonathan,” says a voice that is decidedly not his son’s. “Did you hear that?”

“No. I’m sleeping.” And that was most definitely Jon. His voice is muffled, and Clark has a sneaking suspicion that his son has his face buried in a pillow.

Clark once again raises a hand to knock against the window, harder this time. He grunts at the pain the movement causes. The effects of the Kryptonite are spreading, his arms starting to burn with almost as much vigor as his legs. He’s surprised he can still manage to use his superhearing right now.

“ _That,_ ” says Not-Jon. Clark knows that voice, though. “Someone is knocking at your window.”

Damian? Is that Damian?

“Why the heck would someone be knocking at my window?” Jon asks. His voice is no longer muffled, and Clark hopes that means he’s getting up. He knocks again to be sure.

Jon groans, and Clark can hear blankets rustle and a mattress squeak as he presumably rolls out of bed. 

“You coming?” Jon asks. Damian huffs, and Clark hears the mattress squeak again. 

Is Damian in bed with Jon? Why would Damian be in bed with Jon?

It doesn’t take long for Jon and Damian to appear at the window- Jon’s apartment is small enough that it takes barely any time to cross from end to end. The second that Clark comes into view, Jon’s eyes grow comically large and he rushes towards the window.

“Dad!” Jon shouts as he unlatches the window. He reaches towards Clark and helps him inside. Clark graciously accepts his help, grimacing at the pain as he swings his injured leg over the sill of the fire escape. 

“Dad, what happened?” Jon asks frantically. He ushers Clark towards his kitchen table, helping him into a chair.

“Kryptonite,” Clark grunts. “Right thigh.”

Clark pointedly ignores the curse Jon whispers under his breath as he drags another chair towards Clark. He helps Clark to elevate his injured leg, then looks over his shoulder at Damian. "D, can you-" he starts.

With a nod, Damian interrupts, "I'll get the medical kit." He starts towards Jon's bathroom to retrieve the med-kit that Jon more or less only keeps in case Damian is hurt when his Robin business brings him to Metropolis. It's not very often Kryptonians need medical attention.

“How the heck did this happen?” Jon asks. He crouches down near Clark’s side. Clark nudges him back, wanting him as far as possible from the Kryptonite, but Jon doesn’t budge.

“Luthor,” Clark replies through gritted teeth.

Damian comes back into the room, medical kit in hand. “Move,” he says, mimicking Clark’s earlier action and nudging Jon’s shoulder. This time, Jon scoots back just enough to make room for Damian at Clark's side. 

Damian kneels in front of Clark and begins rifling through the med-kit. “You should go back to your room,” Damian says as he sanitizes a pair of forceps. He looks over his shoulder at Jon. “Right now, Superman is absorbing the Kryptonite’s radiation, but once it’s removed, it will hurt any Kryptonian in the vicinity.”

“But-” Jon protests.

Clark interrupts, “Damian is right, Jon. There’s no reason for you to get hurt too.”

“Go back to your room and call Nightwing,” Damian instructs. “Tell him to Zeta to Metropolis with a lead box. He can collect the sample and bring it to the Batcave.”

Jon relents and retreats to his bedroom. 

With Jon safely out of the way, Damian looks to Clark, who nods. Damian then uses the forceps to reach into the gash on Clark’s leg. 

Clark grimaces as the Kryptonite is extracted. It takes a few moments- the Kryptonite is at least four or five inches in length and fully embedded in Clark’s thigh- but Damian manages to fully remove it. He tosses the Kryptonite to the side, and begins cleaning the site of the wound, removing any residual Kryptonite so that the gash can heal properly.

Clark still feels a dull ache from being within the immediate proximity of Kryptonite, but the searing pain in his muscles is starting to dissipate, and his lightheadedness is starting to ease. He looks down at Damian, who is diligently dabbing at the edge of his wound with an antiseptic wipe, and wonders belatedly what the boy is doing in Metropolis. 

Damian discards the wipe, then leans back on his heels to dig through the med-kit. 

“Met U?” Clark asks, catching sight of the boy’s sweatshirt. When Damian raises an eyebrow, Clark clarifies, “Your sweatshirt.”

Damian looks down at his sweatshirt, as if he's forgotten what he's wearing, and Clark swears he can see the slightest hints of a blush spreading across Damian’s cheeks.

“Oh. This is Jon’s,” Damian mumbles.

Clark nods slowly. “So what are you doing in Metropolis this late?” he asks. 

“Well, I _was_ sleeping,” Damian answers, glancing at Clark out of the corner of his eye.

That doesn’t quite answer all of Clark’s questions, but before he can ask anything further, Jon pokes his head out from his bedroom. “I texted Mom to let her know you’re safe,” he says. “And Nightwing is on his way. ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Good,” Damian says. He presses the edges of an adhesive to Clark’s leg, then sits back on his heels to admire his handy work. “That should do.”

“Thank you, Damian,” Clark says.

Damian nods in response, then collects the scattered medical supplies. He disposes of any waste in the trash can under the sink, then rips a paper towel from the roll on the counter, which he uses to wrap the bloody Kryptonite shard that had been embedded in Clark’s thigh. 

Kryptonite and medical kit in hand, Damian returns to the bathroom to sanitize the soiled medical supplies and return the med-kit to it’s home under the sink.

When the Kryptonite is out of sight, Jon emerges from the bedroom, looking significantly less panicked than earlier. He’s thrown a pair of sweats over the boxers he had been wearing when Clark arrived and has his phone in hand.

“Better?” Jon asks. He runs a hand through his sleep tousled hair as he approaches Clark.

“Better,” Clark agrees. “I’m pretty drained power-wise, but the pain is gone. I’d call that an improvement.”

Jon nods and steps past Clark towards his fridge, pulling out a pitcher of water. “Do you want to stay here tonight? You can sleep on the couch so you don’t have to strain yourself flying home,” Jon offers as he takes a cup from the shelf above his stove. He fills it with water, then hands it to Clark.

Clark gratefully accepts the water, taking a long sip before asking, “Is Damian not spending the night?” The clock above Jon’s kitchen table reads one thirty-four in the morning. He highly doubts Damian will want to drive over an hour back to Gotham when it’s already this late- especially after the week they've all had.

“No, he is,” Jon says slowly, tilting his head slightly. “I don’t think he’ll mind if you stay, though.”

“Well, if Damian has already laid claim to the couch, I can take the floor,” Clark offers. 

Jon’s brow furrows. “What?”

Clark is unsure why Jon is so confused. “You have a guest. I don’t want to force him onto the floor.”

“Dad, it’s Damian. He’s sleeping in the bed. It’s fine if you take the couch.”

“Then where are you going to sleep?” Clark asks. After the week that Jon has had, he shouldn’t have to take the floor. Clark will be fine so long as he has a pillow and a blanket.

“My bed? With Damian?” Jon answers, though his voice lilts as if he’s asking a question. “Dad, I’m twenty-one.”

Clark doesn’t understand what age has to do with it. In fact, he would have thought the boys would be _more_ reluctant to share a bed now that they’re grown. Even when they were younger, they rarely shared a bed during sleepovers, usually opting for sleeping bags and blanket forts that Jon would goad Damian into building.

“You don’t mind sharing your bed?” Clark asks skeptically.

“I- What? Why would I mind sharing my bed with Damian?”

Any explanation Clark may have had is cut off by a knock at the window. Clark twists in his chair and sees Nightwing perched on the fire escape, lead box in hand. 

Damian makes his way back into the kitchen as Jon unlatches the window. “Nightwing,” he greets as his brother pulls himself over the sill of the fire escape and into the apartment.

“Hey, baby brother,” Dick replies. Then, to Jon he adds, “Hey, baby brother’s boyfriend.”

Clark blinks. Baby brother’s what?

“How're you doing, Clark?” Dick continues, clasping the older man on the shoulder, but Clark can only blink because baby brother’s _what?_

“Dad?” Jon prompts when Clark doesn’t reply. 

Clark shakes himself from his stupor. “Boyfriend?” he manages. Then, glancing between Jon and Damian, he asks, “Are you two dating?”

Before either boy can answer, Dick interjects. “Oh my God. Did I just out you two?” he asks frantically. “I’m so sorry. I just assumed he knew- I mean, everyone knows!”

“It’s fine, Dick,” Jon assures. “I- Dad, I told you months ago that Damian and I were together.”

“What?” Clark asks, surprise evident in his voice. “No you didn’t. I would have remembered something like this.”

“Yes I did,” Jon insists. “Remember a couple months ago when we had a mission in the Philippines? We were talking while we flew back to Metropolis, and I told you that Damian and I are going out. You replied! You said, ‘That’s great, son!’ and then you started talking about some League mission.”

And now Clark feels like an idiot. He remembers that moment very clearly, but when Jon had said that he and Damian were _going out,_ he had thought Jon was talking about hero business, that he and Damian were _going out_ on patrol together like they had when they were younger. That was why Clark had immediately started talking about the Justice League- he thought he and Jon were having a conversation about _superheroing_ not _relationships._

Suddenly, a lot of things make a lot more sense: 

Lois asking about Damian every time Jon comes home for a family dinner. 

Bruce telling Clark that he thinks Jon will be good for Damian. 

Jon’s doting when Damian had had to get stitches earlier that week during the invasion. 

And, of course, this explains Damian spending the night and _not_ sleeping on the couch.

In retrospect, Clark isn’t sure how the whole thing went over his head.

* * *

Dick finds it hilarious that Clark didn’t know that Damian and Jon are dating. He laughs right up until he leaves, ducking back out onto the fire escape, carefully encased Kryptonite in hand.

Once Nightwing is on his way back to Gotham, Damian bids Clark a somewhat awkward good night, then shuffles towards Jon’s bedroom. Jon follows after him, though he emerges a few minutes later with an armful of blankets and a pillow.

“I grabbed you two blankets,” Jon says, depositing the mess onto the couch. “It can get kind of cold in here at night.”

“Thanks, Jonny Boy.” Clark ambles towards the couch, careful to avoid putting too much pressure on his right leg. “And thank you for letting me stay the night,” he adds with a tentative smile.

“Dad, you just got stabbed with Kryptonite. I'm not going to just kick you to the curb,” Jon says. “It’s not that big a deal, really.”

Clark squeezes his son gently on the shoulder, then reaches for the blankets to make himself a makeshift bed.

Jon starts towards his room, though he hesitates after a couple steps. Clark catches the movement- or lack thereof- and tilts his head. “Jon?” he asks.

Jon turns back around. “You’re- you’re okay with it, right?” he asks hesitantly. “With me and Damian?”

Clark blinks, surprised, though before he can even start to reply, Jon is rambling. 

“Because I know that you and Mom know that I’m- you know- not straight, and I know that you both said it was fine, but this is the first time that I’m actually dating a guy- and that guy is _Damian,_ and I know you haven’t always been Damian’s biggest fan. I mean, you were kind of wary even when we were just friends, but then on the other hand, you’re friends with Batman and Nightwing, and Kon and Tim have been dating forever, and you seem fine with that. But they’re not Damian, so-”

“Jon,” Clark interrupts, mildly amused. “Take a breath, son.”

Jon does so as Clark lowers himself onto the half-made couch. He pats the cushion next to him, and Jon readily accepts the invitation, dropping next to his father.

“Jonathan,” Clark says, once again placing a hand on Jon’s shoulder, forcing Jon to meet his eyes. “I don’t mind that you’re dating another man and I don’t mind that you’re dating Damian. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.”

Jon nods, though he still seems uncertain. 

Clark sighs. “You’re not wrong," he says. "I was wary of Damian, but that was _ten years ago._ I didn’t know Damian. I only knew his backstory, and you and I both know it’s not an altogether pleasant one.” Jon nods again, and Clark takes it as a cue to continue. “But Damian has earned my trust over the years. I’ve watched the both of you grow into wonderful young men, and I’m very happy that you have each other.”

Jon's shoulders seem to sag in relief. “Thanks, Dad,” he mumbles.

“Of course, Jonny,” Clark says. He wraps an arm around his son, desperately trying to ignore the pull of his heartstrings as he’s reminded that his little boy isn’t so little anymore.“I’m sorry the whole thing went over my head. I guess I can be a little oblivious sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Jon says with a snort.

“Hey, I am an investigative reporter, you know,” Clark protests.

“Yeah,” Jon says, slipping out from under Clark’s arms. “But Mom is the one with the Pulitzers.”

Clark shakes his head, allowing himself an amused smile. “Okay, smart-ass,” he says, nudging at Jon’s shoulder. “Off to bed with you.”

“Hey! You can’t tell me what to do here. My house, my rules!” Jon protests, though he’s rising from the couch as he does so.

“Good night, Jonny Boy,” Clark says, standing so he can finish making his son’s threadbare couch into a comfortable enough bed. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Jon replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweats. “And thanks again,” he adds with a small shrug.

“No need to thank me, son. Just go get some sleep. If anything, thank that boyfriend of yours again for me- for the medical help.”

Jon smiles softly at that, and with a final wave, retreats into his room to retire for the night.

Clark settles himself onto the couch, pulling his blanket- a worn, patchwork quilt that Ma had made when Jon was born- up to his chest.

He and Lois had wrapped Jon in this blanket when he was just a baby. It had sat at the foot of his bed through the ten years they lived in Hamilton, then eight years in Metropolis. It stayed with Jon during his year in the Metropolis University dorms, and now in his first apartment. This blanket has seen Kent family movie nights and nightmares and sick days, and Clark can still point out the spot that Ma had had to re-patch after Jon had accidentally ripped a hole through it with his heat vision when he was nine.

This quilt has seen Jon grow. This quilt has seen Jon play with Legos and action figures and do homework and worry over whether Met U would accept him if his GPA was lower than the average acceptance rate but his SAT scores were higher. And now his baby boy is all grown up, living on his own, a year out from finishing college, and apparently dating Damian Wayne.

Clark blinks sleepily at the ceiling. 

Jon and Damian are dating. Jon and Damian have been dating for _months,_ and he never noticed. 

Rao, Lois is never going to let him hear the end of this. 

Clark vows then and there to be more attentive. He refuses to allow himself to be _this_ oblivious ever again, especially when it comes to his own family.

* * *

Clark is laying on the couch, hovering on the edge of wake and sleep and idly thinking back on his conversation with Jon when he realizes-

Did Jon say Conner and Tim are dating?

**Author's Note:**

> Chat with me on Tumblr: nightwingbb


End file.
